


Cyanide

by Jaden56



Category: South Park
Genre: Afterlife, Amnesia, Angst, Asphyxiation, Banter, Bloodplay, Depression, Drama, First Kiss, Flirting, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Insanity, Language, M/M, Making Out, Mental Abuse, Mutilation, Oral Sex, Reincarnation, Revenge, Seduction, Self-Destruction, Suicide, Temporary Character Death, Vomiting, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 20:59:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/626461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaden56/pseuds/Jaden56
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kenny falls. ***This is a very dark, disturbing fic. Read with caution!***</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park or its characters, and make no profit from writing this story. South Park & Characters are property of Matt Stone & Trey Parker.

 

Kenny couldn't stop the room from spinning, even though he was lying flat on his back with his eyes squeezed shut.  
  
"Ngghh," he groaned, flinching when something cold and scratchy dabbed the corner of his mouth. He groaned again and turned his head away when the faint pressure continued, flinging a hand out blindly to fend off the annoyance. "F'ck off!"  
  
"Sorry, man."  
  
A contrite voice drifted down from somewhere above his head, and Kenny braced himself for the familiar flash of pain when he cracked open an eye briefly, catching the reflection of an unidentifying glimpse of brown hair and brown eyes in his blown-out pupil. He slammed his eyes shut again and sunk back into the relative softness beneath his head and back. An actual bed now, instead of the cold metal and hard-packed dirt he last remembered making contact with. He tried to recall further back, but all he could summon in his still-swirling mind was a large leathery projectile hurling towards his face, someone's quick shout, and the ringing sound his cranium made coming in contact with every step on the way down the football field's metal bleachers before the ground ended his broken-doll freefall.  
  
Kenny wrinkled his nose at the itching around his left nostril, only to have it prodded at again. His hand struck out and actually made contact, holding both the other person's hand and the wet cloth pressed hard against his face, although the guy didn't give up a struggle. Instead, Kenny felt the gentle but rough-textured fingers of another hand run through his coarse blond hair, which felt pretty fucking awesome until they grazed a throbbing knot on the back of his skull, and abruptly set off agonizing flares of pain accompanied with rolling nausea.  
  
"Mother _fucker_!"  
  
Kenny heaved over onto his side, barely holding back bile that burned at the back of his throat while he breathed heavily through his nose. He heard a quietly muttered "Shit" and sensed the other guy move away - through some psychic intuition or misplaced air particles or some shit like that - and mustered up enough vague amusement that even this position managed to be familiar, although usually do to a hard-won hangover.  
  
The hand on his back was new, though, rubbing slow circles between his prominent shoulder blades, and soon the sickness passed, although his head continued to ache.  
  
"Handsy fuck," Kenny grumbled, and was met with a soft, self-depreciating laugh.  
  
"Yeah, well. Just makin' sure you're not gonna die on me or anything."  
  
 _Not that I'd be so lucky this time,_ Kenny sighed to himself, but at least the worst of the nausea had already passed, as long as no one touched his head again. He gingerly rolled himself back onto the bed, sighing in resignation as the other hard knocks he took made themselves known.  
  
"Jesus christ. Is anything fuckin' broken?" Kenny asked, more just to be redundant, because he was accustomed to the sharp, hammer-blows of pain that signaled a broken bone, which thankfully weren't present this go-around.  
  
"Er, no. I don't think so?" His companion's voice hitched with worry, like he possibly might have missed something, and Kenny's blue eyes fluttered open in surprise when he felt the other's fingers slip across his palm and wrap themselves around his hand.  
  
Kenny glanced up from their intertwined fingers and into Clyde Donovan's worried face, murmuring a soft sound of bewilderment because, what the hell?  
  
"Do you think…maybe you should see a doctor? You're in the nurse's office now."  
  
Which again, redundant.  
  
Kenny was almost more familiar with this single room sectioned off with flimsy curtains and overlain with a stinging antiseptic smell than he was with his own house, with its own sour milk and spilled beer aromas.  
  
"Nah, fuck the hospital. Unless I'm missing limbs or some shit." Kenny was still looking at Clyde suspiciously, trying to wrap his mind around this quiet guy he never talked to sitting at his bedside and goddamn near _coddling_ him.  
  
Clyde nodded jerkily, and Kenny felt his breath catch when the other leaned over him, putting their faces precariously close with no warning. Their eyes met, and Kenny could feel honest-to-god heat rise up in his cheeks, causing the scrapes there to sting when he saw Clyde's whole body still, his pulse throbbing visibly at the curve of his throat.  
  
Clyde was damned lucky Kenny had never gotten vampiric urges or a taste for Clamato juice, because _goddamn_...  
  
"Uh..." Clyde breathed out, the air shaky and anemic against Kenny's face, before he seemed to give himself a shake and grabbed for something next to Kenny's shoulder.  
  
Kenny flinched, wary of Clyde accidentally poking him in his head again, but it was only the blood-sticky cloth Clyde had presumably been agitating him with earlier, which he aggravatingly brought back up to Kenny's nose when it must have recommenced leakage.  
  
"Would you fuckin’ stop that already?!" Kenny griped, but his speech came out garbled as the tail end of the cloth fell into his mouth, making him sound exactly the same as he always did with his parka hood pulled tight around his face.  
  
Speaking of which...  
  
Kenny chanced a glance downward, flicking his gaze back up to give Clyde the hairy eyeball when he realized he'd been stripped down sometime between falling and waking. Clyde huffed and dropped the cloth on Kenny's bare chest, scrubbing at the back of his neck in a nervous gesture.  
  
"Um, yeah. Your coat, it got torn. I-I'm taking, er, home economics this semester, so I think I'll be able to sew it..."  
  
Kenny watched his face in bemusement as Clyde's explanation became even less socially acceptable for any dude to just offer up as he went on, eventually falling into embarrassed silence when he saw Kenny staring at him, all judgmental-like.  
  
"Still doesn't explain why I'm _naked_ , Clyde."  
  
"You're not naked!" Clyde protested, nearly jerking Kenny sideways off the bed when he did some kind of crazy gesture of denial with his hands, both of them having forgotten they were still connected.  
  
Naked, and holding hands with Clyde Donovan. Right.  
  
Kenny grunted as he righted himself, lifting the edge of the thin blanket that slid down around his hips and peering underneath. He cut a coy look to the side, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. "Like what you see?" Kenny purred, hooking his thumb along the edge of the blanket (and thankfully his boxers), and tugged them down just that little bit further.  
  
Unexpectedly, Clyde laughed, squeezing Kenny's hand before finally releasing him, his palm a little bit sweaty and overheated. Clyde clapped his hands between his knees and hunched forward - body language somehow managing to be loose and familiar instead of guilty and awkward.  
  
"The nurse had to get your clothes off to see if anything was broken. Sorry to disappoint, man." Clyde gave him a half-hearted shoulder shrug, the corner of his mouth quirking up charmingly. "Not that I _wasn't_ tryin' to cop a feel or nothin’..."  
  
Kenny snorted, unable to help noticing the slightly startled look Clyde snuck in his direction each time he talked or made a sound, like he was fucking _enchanted_ when he realized Kenny spoke actual words, instead of the vague mumblings only a few have managed to decipher over the years.  
  
"So..." Kenny started, after a moment of contemplative silence between them that started to border super awkward. "How'd I end up here this time?"  
  
It was strange, watching the ease slide from Clyde's broad shoulders, leaving him strung-out and shifty this time. Clyde’s guilt was obvious in the way he was having trouble meeting Kenny's eyes; therefore Kenny could grin all he want at the novelty of someone actually feeling _guilt_ on his behalf, rather than the usual resigned dismissal followed by complete ignorance the following day if he’d actually died.  
  
"I...kinda hit you. With a football?" Clyde muttered with a hesitant inflection at the end, like he wasn't sure or something.  
  
"What the fuck, _why_?"  
  
"Well I thought you'd like to try out for the team, and would at least attempt to catch the ball." Clyde heaved a loud sigh and shrugged his shoulders, looking away with a disappointed frown, and for a second Kenny actually believed him.  
  
"…Seriously? Fucker!"  
  
Clyde's guilty expression cracked and he flashed a wide, ridiculous grin at Kenny under a fringe of artfully disheveled brown hair.  
  
"Just kidding, dude. It was a bad throw on my part. I really am sorry, though."  
  
Clyde turned back towards Kenny and reached out and took his hand in his own again, like it wasn't anything. Kenny opened his mouth to protest, then shut it with a furrowed brow. He was aching to call Clyde out on the gay PDA, but he bit his tongue against an automatically lewd response and just waited.  
  
"I guess...this probably isn't the best time to ask you out on a date then, huh?" Clyde said quietly and tilted his head, looking down at Kenny reclined in the sickbed, but not quite meeting his eyes.  
  
Clyde’s soft, wry smile was the tiniest bit heartbreaking, and Kenny had rein in his own inappropriate urge to grin, his quickening heartbeat unfortunately echoed by the muted pulse of pain in his head.  
  
"It's not the worst..." Kenny hedged playfully, but with a tinge of mild confusion - either due to the concussion or Clyde's unexpected proposal. "But considering you hit me in the face, knocked me down the bleachers, took advantage when I was unconscious and stripped me down to my fucking skivvies, hijacked my hand--"  
  
"I get it, I get it!" Clyde gave a short huff that might have been laughter, or might have been dismay, although Kenny couldn't tell which. "Worst pick up ever, yeah. But I _did_ save your life."  
  
Kenny believed his expression effectively conveyed the 'fuck you talkin' ‘bout, Willis' sentiment, but he couldn't be certain as having his face covered the majority of his life gave him little reason or practice to use the look often. But he was attempting it now.  
  
"Don't look at me like that," Clyde grumbled, and Kenny counted it as a silent victory. "You _did_ notice the weather outside, right?"  
  
"Yeeeah," Kenny said slowly, "so what?" It had been a little cloudy out, sure, but he didn’t think it’d been that bad.  
  
"Are you kidding? With those thunderclouds right overhead? I threw that crappy pass because the team was in a hurry to get back inside before the rain came down."  
  
Kenny narrowed his eyes and stared at Clyde until the headache the action gave him forced him to quit. "So...?"  
  
"So?! Kenny, lightning hit the bleachers - the _metal_ bleachers you were on - about ten seconds after you hit the ground."  
  
Kenny gaped at him at him a long moment, then furrowed his brow when he replayed what he remembered before he blacked out. He vaguely recalled a loud ringing noise and the faint smell of ozone that he'd attributed to his brains getting scrambled at the time, but directly after that…nothing.  
  
"Well fuck."  
  
It wasn't like Kenny hadn't been electrocuted before, but the heart-stopping jolt followed by the horrific scent of scorched flesh and delayed needles of white-hot agony was not something he was dying to re-experience any time soon. He had only been on the bleachers to get away from other people for a short smoke break, knowing the cigarettes would kill him eventually, but he figured on a few years before lung cancer took over. And of course no one else had been out there on account of the weather - except the football team - since the coach was apparently kind of a dick who made his team practice despite lightning storms.  
  
Kenny's face paled at the implication, and he winced as Clyde's hand clenched around his own with bone-breaking pressure. Kenny glanced away and firmly yanked his hand back from Clyde’s before the other boy really did break it, or detected his trembling.  
  
"I-uh. Might need that for the thank you handjob you've earned," Kenny muttered quietly after a moment, scratching the short blond hairs behind his pierced ear nervously and clearing his throat.  
  
Clyde started and made a low sound in his throat, cheeks flaming bright red. Kenny would crow at finally getting a rise out of him, but his victory was subdued by the knowledge of his near-miss. His personal pledge to stay alive longer than a week was almost sabotaged, and the knowledge stung.  
  
Clyde recovered admirably, though. "I think it’s you that deserves a handjob," he said with a smirk and only a minimal flush to his cheeks.  
  
"Oh yeah?" Kenny challenged, quirking an eyebrow raucously.  
  
Clyde took a moment to answer, his face fading from flirtatious to way too serious. His brown eyes flicked to the side uncertainly - to the open _door_ visible between the part in the near-transparent curtains surrounding the infirmary bed.  
  
Kenny's heart kicked in his throat, breath catching as Clyde's eyes returned to his, visibly darkening. He was ready when Clyde leaned over him again, but knew, this time, he wasn't going for the washrag.  
  
"Yeah," Clyde whispered, pressing his face against the edge of Kenny's jaw, his lips warm and just a little dry. "Yeah," Kenny mumbled back, turning his head so their mouths brushed together.  
  
Clyde made a soft "mm" sound and closed his eyes, pressing in closer, and Kenny was nearly shaking with the need to laugh at how utterly into it the other guy was. Clyde's kiss was sweet and chaste, which Kenny immediately dirtied up by anchoring his arm around Clyde's neck and slipping him some tongue. Clyde hiccupped a shaky breath into his mouth, and Kenny bit his bottom lip viciously, moaning for real when blood from his nose and Clyde's lip mingled.  
  
Clyde yelped and pulled away to scrub at his stinging lip with the back of his hand with a glare. "Great way to catch AIDS, dude!" Clyde growled, pulling back a moment to catch his breath and watch Kenny considerately.  
  
Kenny grinned, his teeth orange with blood, and raked his fingers through his hair - carefully. "Forgot to get my rabies' shot too. Guess you're fucked, huh."  
  
Clyde tongued the split in his lip and opened his mouth for an obvious retort, but spoiled his timing by hesitating. Like the truth of it tripped him up.  
  
"Yeah, yeah we’ll get there eventually." Kenny was willing to throw him a line, starting to feel a little nauseous from their stop-and-start banter where they alternated shameless with shyness.  
  
He was almost getting used to the feel of Clyde's hand curling around his own, watching their fingers interlace when Clyde reached out for him again. Clyde stroked his thumb gently over Kenny's prominent knuckles, chewing on his lower lip and reopening the split.  
  
"Shit," Clyde cursed quietly to himself, sucking on the small hurt, and hunching in on himself a little.  
  
Kenny let the smoldering chemistry stale between them, sensing Clyde was more accustomed to brazen flirtation rather than actually following through with his innuendos. Kenny didn't really _know_ him though. He could assume and presume, and play along, but he didn't know if he should put more credence to Clyde's smooth-talker rep, or outright fucking romanticize him and imagine he was actually being wooed.  
  
Whichever it was, Kenny did know from their childhood association - although almost no true personal one-on-one action - that Clyde was honestly a good guy and didn't go around breaking hearts or slutting it up. Kenny couldn't say the same for himself, and would have automatically assumed Clyde was scoping him just to get laid, but he was just too fucking sweet with his faltering seduction.  
  
"So...do we make out now? I promise to let you buy me dinner after." Kenny grinned, bright and dirty, figuring he'd take care of the slut and the romantic at the same time - whichever quality Clyde ended up favoring more.  
  
Kenny knew they wouldn't be seeing the nurse again until five minutes after the last bell of the day to lock up the office. She'd usually exclaim when she saw him laying there like a creeper, and cluck him out of the room, having forgotten yet again she even had a patient, since Kenny was pretty much a common fixture there and too easily overlooked.  
  
"Fuck yes." Clyde released a breath of such blatant relief that Kenny laughed aloud, cutting himself off short as he tilted his chin to meet Clyde halfway.  
  
Their eagerness and unfamiliarity with each other's signals nearly maimed them both.  
  
Clyde caught his lip on Kenny's incisor and Kenny knocked his bruised nose on Clyde's cheek - both boys giving simultaneous yelps of pain that were muffled when Kenny gripped Clyde's hair angrily and mashed their mouths together at a more comfortable angle for himself. He ignored the 'pop' Clyde's neck gave at the unexpected twist.  
  
Clyde pulled up against his fingers and braced himself over Kenny’s prone form with a hand on the bed near his chest. He touched Kenny's side, tracing bone until Kenny whimpered, certain he had one or two cracked ribs from the fall that he hadn't noticed initially beneath his pounding headache. Clyde's broad hand moved and curled around the back of his neck, careful of his goose egg bump, but completely took over and dominated the kiss. His other hand sent sparks shooting down Kenny's stomach as it slid down his bare torso, shocking him completely when he palmed his dick - fuck being hit by lightning.  
  
Clyde panted hot and filthy into his mouth, tongue slicking against his teeth, his gums, the back of his fucking throat until Kenny was practically gagging on it. He whined and arched into Clyde's hand, gripping onto his shoulder and flexing bicep as he spread his legs and ground his hips in tight, hard circles. Clyde withdrew his tongue and just kissed him, hard and wet, the slippery inside of his lips sticking to Kenny's.  
  
Clyde kissed so good that Kenny forgot for a moment that they _weren't_ fucking. Weren't even naked really. Clyde's hand was in his boxers, and the thin blanket was bunched down around Kenny’s knees. Kenny wanted to rub himself all over Clyde’s big, beefy manmeat, but his hurts kept him prone, forced to lay there and just accept the most delicious molestation. Kenny nearly forgot to breathe until his headache redoubled and the stabs of pain forced him to gasp for air sucked straight from the wet heat of Clyde's mouth.  
  
"Coming, coming!" Kenny gasped against Clyde's chin, like he was answering a frantically ringing doorbell, and sucked furiously at the cut on Clyde's lip until it cracked open and flooded his mouth while his pulsing cock spilled into Clyde's hand.  
  
Clyde jerked him through his orgasm and took Kenny’s breath away with a last hard kiss. Clyde's upper body curved over near his head, slowly pulling his hand away and trying not to let the palmful of jizz spill all over.  
  
"…I don't gotta lick this up, do I?" Clyde hedged with a hint of whine as he looked at his messy hand and sucked blood plaintively off his lip.  
  
Kenny couldn't help it, but he barked out a hoarse laugh at Clyde's expense. "What the fuck kind of pornos are you watchin’? No you don't have to lick it. Just wipe it off on...something."  
  
Clyde rolled his eyes and did one better, going over to the small sink in the back corner of the nurse's station to wash away the evidence instead. Kenny scrubbed the come off his stomach with the cloth they'd used for his bloody nose and tossed it somewhere over the edge of the bed where the nurse was unlikely to look.  
  
"You want? Should I...?" Kenny nodded towards Clyde's crotch when the other dried his hands and came back, relaxed and satiated while he slid his hand against his bare, damp stomach and gazed up at him with half-lidded eyes.  
  
Clyde shook his head sharply, and Kenny saw a strange look flash in the other's expression - something almost like guilt.  
  
"You're fucking hurt, man. I didn't mean...I didn't _plan_ on... Jesus fuck, I pretty much jumped you as soon as you were conscious, y'know? I don't usually do...that."  
  
Kenny snorted, just picturing Clyde as some kind of perv that snuck into nurse's office to diddle comatose patients. "Yeah, because I wouldn't have let you jerk me off if I hadn't been concussed," Kenny replied blandly, getting a wry tug from Clyde's mouth in response.  
  
"I could always just beat off over your face," Clyde joked. And it _was_ just a joke - until suddenly it wasn't.  
  
Kenny stared at him. Clyde stared back.  
  
"Door--"  
  
"--Yeah."  
  
Kenny could see the back of Clyde's neck heat up apprehensively, his shoulders hiked nearly to his ears as he stumbled over to the open doorway, checking left and right down the hallway before pulling the door firmly closed. Kenny didn't hear the click of a lock, not even sure there was one considering the nurse never had anything stronger than baby aspirin on hand. There was a bottle of whiskey in her bottom desk drawer, though, and she sometimes let Kenny take a shot or two depending on the time of day and how far she was into the bottle first.  
  
Clyde flung closed the curtains around the bed to add to their shoddy illusion of privacy, the color in his cheeks hectic and contagious. Kenny was reaching for his hips while Clyde scrabbled at his belt buckle, whipping it off as Kenny yanked down his fly. Clyde stifled a groan and shoved his jeans and briefs down, his and Kenny's hands tangling as they compulsively leaned up/leaned down to bite and suck at each other's lips. Clyde got his pants off and pressed a hand against the creaky, hard mattress to maneuver himself over Kenny's body, heavy and solid.  
  
Kenny fisted Clyde’s shirt and pushed warningly at his chest with one hand as a reminder not to crush his bruised and damaged body while he scratched his nails up the back of Clyde's thigh with the other, the bristly hairs tickling his fingertips. Kenny gave a drunken giggle against Clyde's lips, heart pounding and lightheaded like the pain just gave up on him taking notice, overwhelmed with this giddy onslaught of hormones.  
  
Clyde kissed and kissed and _kissed_ him, hands punched into the pillow barely supporting Kenny's head, and Kenny moaned as he ran his hands up and over Clyde's tensed thighs. The hot tip of his leaking dick smeared precome over Kenny's belly, both of them whining and growling and sighing instead of actually breathing, until Kenny got a hand wrapped around Clyde's impressive girth and then they both just gave up on generating oxygen completely.  
  
Clyde panted into his mouth while Kenny gave his dick a brief squeeze and moved down to fondle his balls. His middle finger rubbed against Clyde's taint, and he flinched when the bigger guy nearly toppled over onto him with a shout.  
  
"Watch it!" Kenny snapped, pressing harder and right up against his asshole just to be a jerk, especially when Clyde keened uncontrollably and hunched forward over him, clenching tighter than a five-year-old virgin. Kenny eased up and grabbed handfuls of Clyde's nicely toned backside instead, urging him upwards in an awkward shuffle until he was straddling his shoulders.  
  
"Yeah..." Clyde breathed, his brown eyes near-black as he took his dick in hand and smudged the clear fluid beading up over Kenny's red mouth, prettying him up with a sheen of gloss.  
  
Kenny parted his lips and stabbed his tongue out to lick up the moisture, curling around the head of Clyde's cut cock before sucking lightly. Clyde's groan sent a thrill shooting down his spine. Both boys nearly missed the sound as the door to the office clicked open, the pair of them freezing instantly with Clyde's dick balanced on Kenny's lower lip and tongue, and their eyes met in a panic.  
  
"Shit shit shit," Clyde hissed under his breath, his cock jerking when Kenny furrowed his eyebrows and pursed his lips in a pantomime to shush him. They didn't move, listening and waiting as the nurse talked to herself under her breath and ruffled through her desk drawers, judging by the sounds that came from her direction.  
  
They could see the bulk of her outline through the filmy curtains, knowing she'd only have to look over and squint to see the form of the double-backed beast poised on the squeaky little bed.  
  
Clyde's chest heaved as he struggled not to hyperventilate, little black spots flashing behind his eyes as he fought not to succumb to panic or an ill-timed crying fit. He could only imagine what this looked like - him straddling an injured guy's face and force-feeding him his cock. He flinched and nearly yelped when the tip of Kenny's tongue suddenly drilled into his pee hole, Kenny's blue eyes narrowed and intent on his until Clyde forgot about completely losing control or getting caught, and was forced to focus on Kenny instead.  
  
The nurse was taking her goddamned sweet time, and Kenny was getting impatient. Clyde's weight shifted more heavily against him each passing second, his thighs rock hard and straining with the tension of holding himself completely still, and the pressure made Kenny's ribs _scream._ Still, the pain he barely noticed past the smell and taste of Clyde's dick in his mouth, his throat swallowing convulsively as Clyde continued to leak, slipping further and further into Kenny's mouth until the blond could taste him at the back of his throat.  
  
He dug his nails into Clyde's ass, clenching and releasing until Clyde's hips jerked minutely, gradually matching the rhythm. Kenny softened his mouth and allowed Clyde to slip all the way inside, his fingers creeping closer to his crack. Clyde's head dropped back and his whole body arced, knocking a groaning squeal from the rickety mattress frame.  
  
They froze again, heartbeats ratcheting up to dangerous levels as they snapped their eyes towards the nurse, who had also paused at the noise.  
  
 _Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck..._  
  
They heard the wheels squeak as her desk chair rolled, and Kenny barely noticed Clyde's fingers curled into claws next to his head, digging gouges into the pillow unnervingly close to his face. Kenny wasn't worried about Clyde maiming his face or getting caught anymore. His more immediate concern was fucking _choking_ on Clyde's _dick_.  
  
Kenny's eyes watered and he arched his head back to try and slip the meaty length out of his convulsing throat, but Clyde had him pinned and was completely oblivious - head locked and turned in the nurses' direction. Kenny scratched at Clyde's hip and thighs, reflexive tears blurring his vision and, as a last resort, prepared to bite down, but Clyde shifted and Kenny's world went into a dark place as Clyde's hand knocked the knot on Kenny's head.

 

* * *

  
Clyde could barely think for the anxiety and arousal pulsing through him, effectively scrambling anything that might have resembled a thought. He was already envisioning himself being escorted out of the school in handcuffs, being locked in a cell, and made someone's (or some _ones'_ ) prison bitch. Clyde couldn't survive in prison. He had a fucking colostomy when he was five-years-old and down _there_ had never been the same since.  
  
Finally, finally the nurse finished whatever she'd been doing and left, turning off the light and audibly locking the door.  
  
The rush of relief was so intense Clyde couldn't even call out a warning as he came so hard and unexpectedly his stomach muscles threatened to spasm. He panted out his long-held breath and carefully slipped his now limp cock out of Kenny's mouth, appalled and apologizing before he could even fully suck in his next breath.  
  
"Kenny, I'm so so--Kenny?!"  
  
Clyde had to squint for his eyes to adjust to the dim light that filtered through the narrow window into the hallway, unable to comprehend Kenny's lax, blue-tinged mouth and blank, glassy-eyed stare before the outside lights flickered off and pitched the room into complete darkness.  
  
"Holy **shit**!" Clyde jerked backwards, but automatically flailed and latched onto the nearest solid surface for something to hold onto to stop his fall, which happened to be Kenny's arm.  
  
Kenny's lifeless body followed him over the edge of the bed, spattering Clyde's face with cooling come from his gaping mouth. Clyde muffled a scream and shoved the body off of him, barely managing to turn his head before he vomited over them both.  
  
"Oh god oh fuck oh god!"  
  
Clyde was insensible, locked in a dark room with a dead person that he'd...  
  
Oh god, he’d _killed_ Kenny!  
  
Clyde could barely breathe past the fear-wracked sobs bubbling out of his throat, blindly pushing on Kenny's chest trying to wake him. When that provoked no response, Clyde fumbled at his wrists and neck trying to find a pulse, and as a last, desperate attempt when that failed – forced back the revulsion as he kissed his slick, too-cold lips, even though Kenny was damn well not a princess, and Clyde was no fucking prince.  
  
Goddamn Disney.  
  
Clyde retched again when Kenny didn’t wake, scrubbing furiously at his numb lips before he scrambled over the bed and smacked his wrist on a side table trying to find his pants. He flopped over onto the floor when he found an article of clothing that resembled jeans, but his heart sank when he stuck his hand into empty pockets. Clyde groaned when he remembered his fucking phone had been confiscated when he and Craig had been caught texting during class, and he knew Kenny was too poor to afford one.  
  
Clyde tore down the curtains on his way to where he remembered the door being, slapping ineffectively at the wall next to either side of the doorframe. It was another blow when he remembered the light switch was on the _other_ side of the door, in the hallway like the ones for his classes due to some poor planning on an electrician's part. He screamed himself hoarse while pounding and kicking and trying to jar the solid metal door down, but the whole school became practically abandoned the second the last bell rang every day, so no one could hear his screams.  
  
His efforts to escape and get help were blocked again and again as he tried to find a spare key in the nurse's desk drawers - also locked. The school-issued phone on her desk gave a shrill shriek when he tried to dial out, even to 911. Clyde tried everything he could thing of, even trying to break through the tiny slit of a window set in the door until exhaustion and fear whittled away what remained of his wits, tucking himself in the corner furthest away from Kenny’s corpse as he cried and cried and cried.

* * *

  
"Oh good heavens, not again!" A shrill gasp and a breathless flurry of motion woke Clyde, his eyes sore and gritty. "Have you been in here all night, young man? I don't remember having any patients last night, but I get so caught up sometimes I forget any of you are in here!"  
  
The school nurse was chattering on to herself while she herded Clyde up and out of the thin, creaky bed he couldn't remember getting into, squinting against the harsh florescent lights that filled the small office. He slowly stood when she moved away and blushed violently when he felt a breeze where there definitely shouldn’t have been one, and hunched over quickly while he shoved his dangling cock into his pants. He was horrified at the dried, tacky film of come that stuck to his hand afterward - which added a whole other level of mindfuck as to _why_ he was even in the nurse's office in the first place, apparently having been shut in there overnight.  
  
Clyde couldn't shake the troubling feeling he was missing a vitally important component, and _something_ flared in his stomach at the thought that he must have hit his head, which presumably accounted for his memory loss and waking up on a sickbed.  
  
 _No, not him... Someone else...?_  
  
He felt his head gingerly, but other than some wild bedhead, there were no lumps or bruises or pain there. His body felt stiff and sore, and his lip had a cut he didn’t remember getting, and for some reason his thighs stung like...like scratches? He must have taken a seriously hard hit in football practice that completely knocked him out of his senses, which wasn’t entirely unusual.  
  
Clyde grabbed his backpack and jacket after he helped the nurse hang up the curtains that had fallen down around the bed, and walked shakily outside to use the payphone to call his parents. He barely got a word in edgewise while his mom scolded him for forgetting to tell him he was sleeping over at Craig's again, and that she'd been out of her mind with worry when she hadn't been able to reach either boy on their (confiscated) cell phones. Clyde apologized when she finally took a pause for air, and promised to be home right after school, figuring he'd better at least get to the bathroom and clean up if he was going to make it to his first class.  
  
He hung up the phone and turned to head inside, running straight into the immovable mountain of Eric Cartman.  
  
"Watch it, tubby," the bigger teen sneered, having yet to let Clyde live down the fact he'd been the second fattest kid in their whole class growing up, despite both of them having shed most of their baby fat and traded in for height and muscle as they got older.  
  
Clyde's apology was on the edge of fully forming, but he went completely still and tongue-tied at the flash of orange on Cartman's other side. Blue eyes met his in the strangest, saddest look Clyde had ever seen, before Cartman shoved past him and they were gone, lost in the crowd as the first morning bell rang and school began.  
  
Clyde's heart thrummed in his chest for minutes afterward, palms sweating and shaking with nerves as he replayed that look over and over again.  
  
Today...maybe today would be the day he finally asked Kenny McCormick out.


	2. Chapter 2

Kenny read about immortals – creatures that lived forever, unless they were caught by a stray ray of sunlight, and then went 'poof' (or more recently sparkled, if they were the gay version). He had no pressing urge to drink blood, even though he wasn't squeamish with his own or other's bodily fluids, nor did he carry a long sword to hack off people's heads and absorb their life force Highlander-style. He wasn't sure _what_ he was, exactly, aside from miserable, tormented, and just plain fucking tired.

He had been killed hundreds of times, but only a few occasions had his resentment brought him to the breaking point. After the whole Mysterion fiasco all those years ago, Kenny reverted back to keeping all of those feelings bottled up inside - no costumed vigilantism for him. But Clyde...while he wasn't anywhere close to being Kenny's first fuck, he had definitely been amongst one of the nicest. He never knew any one who liked to kiss so much, or kiss like he meant it; as if he would be more than happy to tongue-fuck Kenny's mouth all day until he passed out from lack of oxygen. Clyde also had these nervous starts, like he was honest-to-god anxious about Kenny's opinion of him, like Kenny _mattered._

Of course, that all got fucked to hell when Clyde had asphyxiated him with his own dick, and while Kenny, logically, could categorize his latest demise as just another accident with absolutely no maliciousness on Clyde's part, the pain of Clyde fucking _forgetting_ just like everyone else hit him on an emotional level. Cracks that he thought he had patched over with practiced indifference had been splintered, especially in that moment when Clyde and he saw each other the day after their little tryst in the nurse’s office. The surprise and guilt and anxiety that flashed in Clyde's brown eyes was offset with startled confusion when Kenny approached him later that day with ready forgiveness for something Clyde had no idea he needed forgiving for.

There was a kind of sense to his death happening the way it had; Clyde had saved him from death-by-electrocution, only to end up Kenny's incidental killer an hour or two later. Kenny knew from experience and the Final Destination movies Death did not like to be cheated, and always caught up with those who slipped its bony grasp in the end. But still. He had been _saved_ , he'd been coddled, and kissed, and fucked spectacularly, and Clyde had even wanted to date him afterward, but despite all of that Kenny's fate had been unavoidable, just like all the other times.

So it pissed him off. Made him spiteful and vicious in a way he'd never been before, and Clyde happened to end up the unfortunate victim of Kenny's own brand of wrath in using his curse like he never had before.

 

* * *

 

Kenny seduced Clyde every other week; sometimes it was a slow build up of brushed arms and alluring smiles (more effective when Kenny actually revealed his face), sometimes he was straight up catching Clyde blindsided. On a Tuesday, Kenny had shoved Clyde up against a wall between classes and jammed his tongue down his throat. He had simply walked away after assaulting him with his mouth, leaving Clyde flustered and pitifully hard in front of his friends and teammates. By Friday, they were fucking on the filthy mattress on the floor of Kenny’s bedroom.

Kenny rode Clyde’s dick brutally hard before taking an old-fashioned razor from underneath his pillow that he’d inherited years ago after his grandfather had died and slit his own throat wide open the moment before Clyde came. Blood coursed down his torso, hot and glorious, and splashed onto Clyde’s stomach and down his sides to pool around them, Clyde’s liquid heat filling him while his own left his body quicker than Clyde could possibly replace.

Clyde was an incredibly sensitive guy with an incredibly sensitive stomach, so his reactions were always dramatic and often just as messy as Kenny’s deaths were. Kenny didn’t take much pleasure in Clyde’s heart-wrenching cries or the chilling shock as EMT’s pried his arms from around Kenny’s body and kindly explained, “He’s gone, son. Time to let go.”

His spirit rarely lingered around after the fallout, denying that it was a leaden gut which dragged him down to Hell instead of floating up nice and easy to the Pearly Gates.

Kenny detested Clyde for caring about him, for letting him get close, and then forgetting about Kenny after he died just like everyone else. Clyde would fail to remember that he'd been holding Kenny's cold body tightly, rocking and sobbing discordantly as his heart was broken again and again. He could forget that Kenny had coerced him, drawing Clyde’s belt from the loops of his jeans with an assuring look, to wrap the leather tight, tight, tight around Kenny's throat, warned not to let up until Kenny had the most incredible orgasm of his life. Of course, corpses couldn't come, and by the time Clyde realized Kenny wasn't breathing anymore, it was too late.

The subsequent days Clyde would stare at him, straining like he was trying to remember, but a bell ringing or a friendly slap on the shoulder from a friend would jar him, and whatever slip of memory he struggled to hold onto would be lost.  
  
Eventually Clyde began losing weight (only a little on the husky side to begin with), pulling away from his friends, and sinking into visible depression, even though no one - except Kenny - knew why. It was Kenny that began to find careful cuts on the insides of Clyde's arms, strange bruises around his neck that echoed the lost memory of belts and ropes and scarves that he'd wrapped around Kenny's neck himself over and over until he took his own lover’s life more times than he knew.  
  
Kenny eased up on the choking bit, but his own resentment increased pace to match with Clyde's depression. He deliberately saturated his hair in alcohol before coaxing Clyde to drip hot candle wax on his chest in the dark, confined space of his room (always Kenny’s room). Kenny had the graciousness not leave blood stains or scorch marks on Clyde's parents’ nice carpeting, since he deliberately jarred Clyde’s arm into dropping the candle near his head, immediately igniting.

Kenny was breaking him down, erasing a little more of that sweet, shy innocence peppered liberally with surprising boldness each time he began the morbid seduction again. He was dragging Clyde down to his level, changing him into something a little darker, something a little more void of the life Kenny had snatched from him in an endless cycle of misery.

 

* * *

  
Kenny wasn’t sure what to think when Clyde had shown up covered in gauze and bandages, but he found himself noticing how the frustrated glare of pain and tears never left Clyde’s downcast eyes for a moment. Kenny had come to school shiny and new the next day, but Clyde had severe burns on his hands, arms, and part of his face from where he'd tried to beat the flames off Kenny with nothing but his bare hands. That kind of injury no doubt effectively barred him from football, writing, or even jerking off for at least the next three weeks.

Kenny diverted from his normal lunch routine of sitting with Stan, Kyle, and Eric, and watching them exchange pizza and candy and soda while Kenny picked at his lone slice of bologna - no bread. He ignored his friends’ quizzical looks when he suddenly stood from their table and moved his way to the back of the lunchroom to where Clyde was now sitting alone in a corner with his lunch tray, even though none of his food had been touched.

Clyde didn't even glance over when Kenny sat down so close their thighs practically melded and shoved back his hood, the other boy usually so quick to devour the rarely exposed pale skin and wild blond hair. Kenny wordlessly took the other’s silverware and cut up his meatloaf for him, tears spilling silently down Clyde’s raw cheeks as he chewed lifelessly when Kenny brought a loaded forkful to his mouth.

 _It could just as easily be a gun_ , Kenny thought as meat and mashed potatoes disappeared into Clyde's mouth, already seeing those full lips wrapped around the hard metallic barrel of a revolver or semi-automatic instead.  
  
It wasn't like Kenny didn't fantasize about taking them both out Romeo and Juliet style, frolicking in the clouds and mussing up their white robes and shiny halos for all eternity. But while Clyde would no doubt be destined for Heaven, Kenny was more and more frequently visiting Hell - every death he made Clyde witness or take part in yet another black mark carved into his soul. Lunch progressed and ended without a word spoken, but when they stood and Kenny helped Clyde with his backpack, he delayed him with a careful hand against his burned cheek before Clyde walked away. Clyde didn’t flinch, but stood there as Kenny smudged away a tear with his thumb, tracing the saltiness into the trembling softness of Clyde’s bottom lip in place of a public kiss, since he didn’t seem to be looking for Clyde’s humiliation this time.

 

* * *

  
  
Kenny followed Clyde home after school, and while Clyde refused to speak much anymore, Kenny was on his best manners and gave the Donovans a rusty smile that hurt his face, lying smoothly that he’d been assigned to help Clyde with his homework because of his burns. Clyde’s parents were polite and gracious, and Kenny pointedly ignored the looks Mrs. Donovan gave him like she was itching to put plastic down over the couch and chairs.  
  
They watched TV on the 50-inch flat screen in the living room, and Kenny did end up doing Clyde’s homework for him under the still-suspicious but harmless gaze of his parents, although he definitely couldn't guarantee Clyde would be winning any awards for his sudden genius on the subject of World War II and pre-algebra. At dinner, Kenny was careful not to take seconds, and even offered to help clean up, even though he'd never washed a dish in his life.  
  
When the hints that the time was getting late and it was a school night were becoming less covert, Kenny helped Clyde to his room, not because his retarded (boyfriend? Mental abuse victim?) was an invalid, but just to have a fucking second with him out beneath the prying eyes of teachers, classmates, and parents. Kenny helped him change into his pajamas, although he drew a line at giving him a sponge bath or brushing his teeth or whatever the fuck else he'd been having to take care of himself before Kenny had come along, unless his mom was wiping his ass for him.  
  
Clyde was staring blankly over Kenny’s shoulder to the wall behind him the entire time Kenny was dressing him, and the blond was starting to get aggravated by the way Clyde avoided his gaze at any cost.

”Hey,” Kenny murmured as he smoothed his hands along Clyde's ribs, his palms hugging the sharp curve of his hips just above a well-worn, loose pair of sleep pants. Clyde’s red-rimmed eyes sluggishly met his, and when they did Kenny tilted his head and leaned up to kiss him softly, tasting the pasta and buttery garlic bread they'd eaten for dinner. Clyde finally came to life then, drawing his arms around Kenny and pulling him close with a sudden strength that took his breath away.  
  
Kenny followed when Clyde drew him down to the bed, their bodies tucked close while their arms and legs twisted together. Kenny ran his fingers through Clyde's messy hair, pulling him close when Clyde buried his face against his chest and quietly cried.

Kenny's mouth drew downward when the pangs of guilt he'd been violently suppressing for the past month suddenly speared through him with sharp, barbed hooks. He sighed and pressed his cheek against the top of Clyde's head, biting his lip harshly before he finally gave up and whispered, "I don't want to hurt you anymore."

Just as unexpectedly, Kenny hissed as fist took hold inside of his stomach and twisted. It took him several seconds to realize the pain wasn't literal, that just the thought of ending this fucked up relationship with Clyde could affect him so much.  
  
"I know... I know what you've been doing." Clyde shuddered after one last gulping sob, drawing away even though their legs remained intertwined and his bandaged hands clung stiffly to Kenny's ragged t-shirt.  
  
Kenny twitched, his breath catching at the rush of relief that someone finally, _finally_ remembered, that his deaths weren’t so pointless. But if that were the case, then why Clyde would let it continue?  
  
"I mean, I have these dreams sometimes. A-All the time…about you." Clyde took a wet, shuddering breath and looked up at Kenny with all the fear and anguish he never stuck around to see after he was incorporeal. "About you dying, Kenny. Over and over, and it's all my fault. It's always my fault!"

Clyde's face crumpled, and Kenny knew then and there if he left Clyde like this tonight, it would be Clyde's body he would be curled over and mourning the next day. Clyde never deserved any of this…the only thing he did wrong was fall for a cursed _thing_ like Kenny.  
  
"I-It's not real, is it? I mean, it can't be...I-I'm losing my fucking mind!"

Clyde didn’t wait for Kenny’s assurance or denial, finding some kind of inner strength as he pulled away and turned his back on Kenny, reaching out for his side dresser and nearly ripping the drawer off its hinges. Kenny's breath caught in his throat as Clyde pulled out the revolver Kenny had just been picturing him with hours before, echoing his visions of sliding the muzzle as lovingly as he ever had Kenny's cock into his mouth.  
  
"You die, you come back. I die...well..." Clyde was speaking to himself, staring down almost unseeingly at the gun gripped carefully in his hands. Stan Marsh's uncle ran a gun shop and was more than eager to loan one out to a "friend" of his nephew interested in "hunting," not even questioning the lack of extra rounds of ammunition.  
  
There was a resigned film creeping into Clyde's soft brown eyes - the same glazed look Kenny would get right before he died. Kenny broke from his paralyzed horror when he heard Clyde's quiet, "I guess we'll see."

The gun was nearly to Clyde's mouth before Kenny clamped his hand over Clyde's and ripped the gun away. There was a deafening crack of fire and Kenny's ears were left ringing. He couldn't comprehend the splatters of red across Clyde's white face, not until the gun dropped from their hands and a burning agony worse than he'd ever felt exploded through Kenny's stomach.  
  
"No! God, Kenny, nonononono..." Clyde moaned, the blood on his face streaked with tears that fell onto Kenny's face, sliding into his mouth to mix with the metallic liquid already filling his throat. Kenny blearily looked past Clyde's shoulder to his parents, faces pale and horrified while Mrs. Donovan screamed to her husband to call an ambulance.

Their presence confirmed the situation was very much real, instead of some horrible nightmare of Clyde’s.  Kenny had been shot, and instead of an easy fucking headshot, he was bleeding out through his middle with his guts and insides on garish display.  
  
Kenny's fading blue eyes struggled to shift back over to Clyde's face, unable to hold his head up any longer. Clyde was crying (always fucking crying) and Kenny struggled to lift a hand towards him, gripping the back of Clyde's neck the best he could with blood-slick hands and gasped fiercely past the blood choking him. "Don't-Don't die, Clyde. Don't..."  
  
Kenny wouldn't be reincarnated until it was already too late, if Clyde took his own life without Kenny there to stop him.

 

* * *

   
Again.

Kenny was dying in his arms again, and there was nothing Clyde could do to save him. The dreams he had were so vivid and real, it was all he could do not to cry out whenever he saw Kenny alive and whole the next day at school, unable to tell dream from reality after months suffering those hideous visions. Clyde was so sure Kenny would disappear the moment he touched him.

His imaginings had been so severe that he could almost believe he came with Kenny home and fucked him into his old creaky mattress, that he couldn’t possibly imagine the metal coil that stuck out and jabbed him in the hip, or the stained carpet and the broken window and the lewd posters of naked women on his wall. None of that mattered because Kenny was beautiful and responded so passionately to Clyde’s kisses and felt so, so warm inside, like a fever.

Clyde had to be fucked up to envision the cold, waxy give of dead flesh beneath his fingers with the clarity and conviction he did. He knew knew _knew_ how life leaving a person’s eyes looked; the sound of someone's final breath, the endless frantic search for just one throb off life from a limp wrist or a kiss-bitten throat. Clyde was near fully-convinced he had the makings of a serial killer, because who else would have these impulsive, violent thoughts regarding a living being he saw walking and living and breathing everyday?  
  
But he had Kenny's blood pouring out over his hands like a living nightmare, not imagining the light leaving his eyes like every brutal flash of memory from dreams he couldn't fully focus on, but knew in his soul somehow had to be real. His mom was screaming, his dad's hands shaking his shoulders, and Kenny was dead. Kenny told him not to die, but how was this living?  
  
Clyde's hand moved towards the discarded gun, his awareness slowed like molasses as he curled over Kenny's body, tucked the muzzle under his chin, and pulled the trigger.


End file.
